Nobility
by Dana E. Vassy
Summary: Mulder has a terrible choice, and he discovers there was only ever one answer


Title: Nobility  
Author: Dana E. Vassy  
Distribution: anywhere and everywhere m'dears. I'd be honoured.   
Just drop a line telling me it's eventual location at   
scully_is_a_medical@doctor.com  
Feedback: Please Please Please! I'm having a self-esteem   
crisis!!!!  
Category: Mulder POV/angst, eventual MSR?  
Rating: PG i.e. clean fic m'lud  
Spoilers: Requiem, Sein Und Zeit, Closure, Redux II, Folie A Deux,   
most of which are slight and merely referential  
Dedications: The essential moral of this tale was a piece of advice   
given to me by a very wise woman. Only now do I see its   
true importance. So AM, this one is for you - I finally realised   
what direction I had to take!  
Songs of Inspiration: "Now and Forever" by Richard Marx (you make   
sense of madness, when my sanity hangs by a thread); "Never Say   
Goodbye" and "I Want You" by Bon Jovi  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
Mulder's apartment, 02:17 am  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
I sit here on the all-too-familiar couch. But it is not the past   
overwhelming me as I recline; it is the future. In my hands   
there is a gift more precious than anyone could ever hope to   
receive. A force that has shaped my life for more years than most   
people would think plausible. So many times I came close, only for   
this outcome to elude me. Now, it is right before my eyes, and I   
will let nothing from this world or the next take it away.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
An alien craft, hours after abduction in Oregon  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The brightness here is shocking. In all the poxy   
dramatisations, such light is used to imply the sanitary and   
superior nature of alien visitors. The experience I have dreamed   
of so often was now giving me a headache. Typical. Reality never   
quite compares to fantasy. Except for in the situation of bedding  
...never mind.   
  
This diary-like recording of events is one I know Dana uses   
to make sense of madness. I only dare call her 'Dana' in my   
head. So comfortable are we with surnames that it seems ridiculous   
to toy with that now; in spite of everything that has occurred   
between us. I hope that should any cruel fate befall me,   
Dana can take comfort from this journal. Although with our almost   
psychic connection, I feel a certain affinity with her now, one  
that transcends any obstacles put in our path. I only dream   
that she will know exactly what I feel for her, confusing though   
it is to me. Our bond of trust means so much.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
Days later  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
As my sensitive skin grates on the crude clothing I have been given,   
I pray to the God I never had faith in that Dana did not   
endure this. The pain is omnipresent; no part of me escapes   
the throbbing, stabbing torture. I am taking advantage of this   
rare lucidity to transcribe my fear. The fear that what happens   
to me now will be the only thing between life and death. There is  
so much more left to achieve, and I can sense my proximity to   
a goal. As to the specifics of this goal, I am undecided. But   
I learned through years of practice never to discount a gut   
instinct.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
An indiscriminate day  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
I'm not sure any words I write now are going to express how I feel.   
The phrase 'emotional roller coaster' comes to mind, yet   
it is not enough. I am exhausted and tireless at the same time:   
ecstatic in my triumph, yet crushed by its price. On board this   
curious vessel I have uncovered documented and physical proof of   
every 'myth' I have devoted myself to. Facts that could defeat   
even Dana's scepticism. But the chances of being allowed   
to do that are slim. Tragically so.  
  
I sat in an abandoned room, reading files that seemed rather   
too convenient. I watched video clips, and observed endless   
iles of medical records and slips permitting human experiments.   
All of which was encrypted with English and French   
translations. The translation made me wary, but I realised   
that this was the only 'humanised' section of my prison. My   
captors were not in evidence, but nonetheless I could feel   
their presence. Watching, taking notes even. Suddenly   
emboldened, I looked to type my name on the nearest computer   
screen. Seeing no keyboard, I puzzled over its operation.   
But when I moved my gaze to the monitor and directed the   
thought of my name towards it, the list of names began to   
scroll quickly. Eventually, only one record appeared   
before me  
  
SCULLY, DANA KATHERINE 02/23/64  
  
Confused, I tried various commands to let me view whatever   
information there was. My sole reward was a number. Reminded of   
my exploits in the Pentagon, I cursed the alien force for not   
devising a more efficient filing system. But sure enough, I found   
the one slip of coated paper headed with Dana's name. I was   
steadfast enough until I read its contents.  
  
The first paragraph contained the date of her abduction and   
various codes. I presumed these to be codes for whatever procedures   
they had carried out. The ensuing text chilled me to my very   
soul. She had been mapped out to work with me, to be issued certain   
challenges, and the brief profile of her it contained was more exact   
than anything I could ever dream of whilst working in VCU.   
At least it was favourable.  
  
But the part that sickened me, that felt like a blow straight   
to the gut, was why my name was included. Fox William Mulder,   
child of CGB Spender and Teena Mulder, was destined to uncover the   
'operation' and protect the 'merchandise'. But when he did,   
Scully would be 'terminated'. Should he remain silent, she   
would be 'preserved'. I saw now what this was - a test.   
No, it was time for me to evaluate that which I had hidden   
behind for so long.  
  
This was who I was - a boy who wanted to know the truth.   
"Spooky" Mulder, on his quest to find the little green men. The   
cliches that had haunted me now seemed childish. And that was   
the most fitting description for them, puerile even. Whenever   
my motives were questioned, the reply always involved revealing   
government conspirators or proving the dangerous existence of   
extraterrestrials. Now that this was within my grasp, the beauty   
was tarnished. By telling the people of America, or the world about   
this, I would lose Dana.  
  
I agonised for what felt like years. While Dana had never shirked   
from her suffering, this was too much to expect of her. Losing a   
daughter, her sister and her health had been wasteful to say   
the least. Her mother was constantly worried, and her brother   
despised me. And my justification? The greater good. Whatever   
that meant, it would have to be pretty significant.  
  
Then it dawned on me. While I could have gone on forever without   
finding this 'truth', I could not live one day knowing I was   
responsible for Dana's death. I needed her too much. I realised   
then that until she joined the X-Files, I was fumbling in an   
unconquerable darkness. Diana has not helped, nor had my zeal.   
Without Scully at my side, I would have surrendered to defeat   
seven years ago. Or gone completely mad. At times, I wasn't   
sure if I wasn't already crazy. The clarity of my thoughts,   
the sense of 'right' I felt in choosing to let Dana survive   
was immeasurable. Suddenly I felt true closure.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
Mulder's apartment, 02:24 am  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Gazing at her tired smile, I know that I would have been   
stupid to make a choice other than this. And from hereon in,   
I had no intention of playing the clown. Dana's pregnancy was   
beginning to make its presence felt. As I drowned in every inch   
of her, I felt complete for the first time since Samantha had been   
taken. The faint scent of apple shampoo, and her sweet French   
perfume made a gentle assault on my nostrils, while my pupils   
dilated at her sheer beauty. Her peachy skin seemed more luxurious   
than any silk, and the lingering taste of our last kiss had my lips   
tingling. It was as perfect as I could have wished for.  
  
Perhaps maturity does come with age, or the fear of losing a   
loved one. But I learned an important lesson on that mysterious   
ship. Sometimes, it is better to advance one step in safety,   
than to see a dangerous quest to its completion. Progress is   
gradual in nature, and we can only hope that our contribution   
pens paths to others that might follow our lead. One day, the   
American people will be told the truth about everything from JFK   
to jello. But it will not be me who exposes that truth to   
them. And as for my successor, may he be as happy with his choice   
as I am today.  
  
Fox Mulder  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  



End file.
